Ash
by Shelacula
Summary: She had to realize that merely surviving wasn't the same as 'moving on'. But at least it was a start.
1. Chapter 1

**Alistair/Cousland has always been my favorite Origins pairing but I never really thought the death of her _entire family _was brought up enough.  
>I always figured that would be <em>slightly<em> significant. So here's my attempt at being angsty and deep/thoughtful/what-have-you. Expect short chapters and erratic updates! (And do alert me of any nasty typos you happen across.) I wouldn't be surprised if something like this had been written before but I love Alistair/Cousland too much to resist. ] **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing!**

**Enjoy. :)**

Smoke, riding the glow of the fires set to her ancestral home.

She felt the heat sink into her skin, settle like a cloak around her shoulders. Rage boiled and seared her bones, cauterizing the raw wound in the empty space of her heart. The flames banked in her eyes and left behind the charred black remains of who she had been.

* * *

><p>She'd had a sense of humor, once. She remembered distant times of laughing with her family. Her father. Her mother. The woman Fergus had loved and wed, and her brother's little boy. The memories couldn't hurt her anymore. Instead, they broke off like tiny shards of ice in her chest, splintering until they touched every vein.<p>

Now, as she listened to this man – _was he truly a warden, a former templar?_ - she searched and fought to find even a sliver of the woman who knew how to laugh. When her tight expression failed to shift, he broke off with an uneasy chuckle of his own.

She envied him the sound. Her own throat was dry and broken from disuse, no good for laughing.

He stuck out his hand. She took it from habit and when her cold fingers touched his warm ones, some of the frozen chips in her blood began to thaw.

* * *

><p>Alistair watched her more than he liked. The other recruits were of a like mind as they tramped through the Wilds. They stumbled and tripped over themselves every time she dispatched a darkspawn with cool efficiency.<p>

Quick swings of the blade. One. Two. Another genlock fell before her.

Her face was ever unchanging amongst the carnage, a porcelain mask on an animated doll with black eyes.

He expected her to fall apart with every blow she took and found himself surprise when she bled instead of shattered. Half of him believed she wasn't real. The other half cringed away from the vast emptiness he glimpsed behind her dark eyes. Ice and shadow – like soul had been sucked from flesh.

As they limped back towards the camp at Ostagar, he caught sight of a tiny petal between her clenched fingers. Virginal white, stained deep red at the center.

Her mask had yet to fall but he thought, perhaps, that there was something left of her to save after all.

* * *

><p>She was off by herself again.<p>

Alistair watched as she leaned against her dog, shoulder to shoulder, and stared up at the full moon. Clouds crossed the sky frequently, but she never pulled her eyes away. As though she could peer through the cover to the bright orb behind them – as though the clouds didn't exist at all.

Since they'd awakened after the battle at Ostagar, she had said little, her voice cracking apart at the seams. He nearly expected her throat to bleed with the effort those few words took, to split open and give reason for her anguish. His own suffering ate at his insides, but he couldn't bring himself to share it with her.

Seeking a distraction, he cast his eyes across the camp fire. His face twisted. Morrigan watched them both with hawkish eyes, a yellow gaze that saw too much and revealed too little. She was like a monster from a child's tale. He didn't like her, hadn't from the start, but Elissa hadn't argued over her presence and Alistair found himself agreeable to most of what she did – if only to avoid poking at the hairline breaks he saw forming across her facade.

The crackling of the fire was barely enough to break the heavy silence that settled over their camp each night. He could see the oppressive weight of it bearing down on their de facto leader, her frail shoulders buckling under it and realized he was staring at her again.

Knowing he was going to regret it, he hauled himself away from the comforting light of the flame and shuffled awkwardly to sit by her side. She did not turn her head to look at him – did not acknowledge him in any way. Her mabari's eyes flickered, a warning, but the hound gave her a gentle nudge.

"You know," he rambled, "They say sleeping gets easier a few weeks after the Joining."

Finally, a reaction. Her black gaze moved, so slowly he could nearly hear the creaking of tendon and muscle working beneath her thin skin. She said nothing, but the harsh slash of her lips eased and something like interest softened the severe pull of her brow.

"The nightmares," he continued, easier now that he'd earned her attention, "They're worse just after but they usually fade." He leaned back on his braced arms and looked up at the sky, trying to see what she found so enthralling in it.

She shifted then, her body turning towards him. Her mabari – _what was its name again?_ - lay down at her side, tucking its wide muzzle into her lap. Alistair noticed for the first time that it was still speckled with blood, as was her armor and half of her face. He shuddered. It looked black against her pale skin and seemed to writhe in the flickering shadows cast by the distant flame.

"I dream of many things," she said suddenly, and he started in surprise, nearly toppling over. Her voice was a whisper, a faint breath in the night. "Not all of them are of the darkspawn. I doubt they will let me rest," she drawled, and he was shocked to hear a hint of wry humor in her rasping, hollow voice.

Dark bruises colored the skin beneath her eyes, but for once she looked like more than a walking corpse. There was something like color in her black irises. Perhaps they had once been a warm brown rather than char black. She leaned back, mimicking his pose, and seemed content to watch the clouds as they passed over the moon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Another chapter! This one came out more easily than I had expected. :) As always, feel free to pick out typos/mistakes. Read and enjoy! **

Lothering.

Hopelessness was a steady weight around them, a pall in the air that made breathing hard. Elissa seemed indifferent to it, as she was indifferent to most things. Thinly veiled tension bracketed her lips in fine lines, little cracks in her porcelain skin that stood stark against her complexion, when the clamor of town life reached her ears.

A child – a young boy dressed in rags – limped across the road before them and never before had Alistair seen a human turn so pale as she did when her black eyes touched him. She jerked, like a puppet at the hands of its master, before she managed to check the movement.

Something in her eyes made him nervous. A strange glimmer that did not belong. She watched the boy until he disappeared, and still then her gaze did not falter. Morrigan said something waspish, and Elissa snapped around with the speed of a predator, her mouth twisted in a facsimile of a wolf's hungry snarl. Her teeth were white and sharp and so very threatening against the pale slash of her lips.

Alistair did not say a word when she regained her composure, but the witch from the Wilds could not leave well enough alone.

"_Pathetic_."

Elissa's blade was half drawn by the time Alistair placed a restraining hand upon her shoulder. Morrigan's dark lips turned up in a smirk, eyes dancing with mocking mirth. She did not move, a statue, a doll. Moments later, she blinked and her finger released the white-edged grip she'd had on her weapon.

She shrugged free of his touch and walked away without another word. Their silent, tiny leader. He watched the narrow silhouette of her back against the pristine blue of the sky and wondered if she would be strong enough to save Ferelden when the time came. He wondered if any of them could be.

Morrigan laughed, a dark unpleasant noise that made Alistair's skin crawl and his insides turn to frost.

He wished he'd let Elissa kill her but the Templar's were already watching them with beady, suspicious eyes and they couldn't afford to be detained. Too much rested on them.

Alistair followed Elissa's example. He turned and left the witch to whatever maniacal machinations she was planning.

He found Elissa near the Chantry, her fingers moving over the board in front of it. The Chanter watched in silence, seemingly unsurprised by the sight of heavy armor and blood splatter. Alistair came up beside her with a deliberately clumsy stumble. He had startled her once, an accident while they were setting up camp, and had nearly lost a limb for it.

"Shall we help around the village?" He asked amiably, hoping to raise another bout of rare words from her. "It should help fill our purses." He patted the depressingly hollow pouch at his hip.

Dark eyes turned from the papers pinned to the board to his face. He flushed under her gaze, as he always did when a woman looked at him too long, and attempted to remind himself that this wasn't _any_ woman – this was his fellow Grey Warden, his peer, his _leader_.

And she was broken. In her black eyes, he could see the potential of who she had once been. Like the coals of a fire that had long since burned out.

He sighed. "Or not." He resigned himself to further rationing and nights filled with rumbling bellies.

When she walked away again, he didn't bother following. Instead, he took to joining a nearby child is trying to make the Chanter speak – it was a bit of mischief he'd always enjoyed during his Templar training.

Elissa would find him again when she was ready.

* * *

><p>There was <em>blood<em>. So much blood she could swim in it. It clouded her vision, stung her eyes. Still she slashed and swung and felt the tear of her blade through flesh. It was enough.

It was not Howe. This she knew, though as she heard the crunch of bone and a scream of anguish, she imagined it could have been. Another one fell, crawling from her, and she imagined it was _Howe's_ back she plunged her weapon through, that it was _his_ blood that slicked her skin.

Enough. Enough to feed the empty hole that grew steadily beneath her breast with every passing day.

These base men, humans who had proven to be little more than beasts, were a good substitute. Her vengeance would leave Lothering safer, quieter in the ill-fortuned time before the impending Darkspawn wave hit. There was little more she could do for these dying people.

The last of them collapsed in the sticky mud. The field had been barren and dry before she had stepped into it. Now it was a marshland of blood and pieces of human that had slipped free at the heft and sway of her skilled sword. She panted from exertion, aching to the bone, and swiped an arm over her eyes to clear her sight.

It was horrific. It was gratifying.

Elissa turned and headed back towards the village. Alistair would likely be where she had left him. If she had learned _anything_ about the former Templar – her knowledge was still admittedly slim – it was that he did not break rank easily. He would likely remain in place until night fall if he believed that was where she would return to.

He was baffling. She looked at him and saw all the things she no longer was.

Happy. Warm. Strong.

They thought she was strong. Elissa _felt_ like a hollowed out husk with a thin veneer of solidity. She wondered how long it would take them to realize she was nothing but empty space held in a fragile shell. A pitiful state for the once proud daughter of the Cousland –

She raised a hand and slicked her hair away from her face. As she came upon the Chanter, she sheathed her blade. Not even _she_ would approach him with weapons drawn. Such a threat was unholy.

Elissa had worshiped the Maker as the Chantry had taught her.

The Chanter seemed pleased when she tore the paper requesting assistance away from the board and folded it carefully in his dark hands. He reached into his robes for a pouch of silver and Elissa refused with a grim shake of her head. She could not bring herself the touch the coins, blessed as they surely were, with her red-stained fingers.

Alistair had no such qualms. He was near, as she had expected he would be, and he all but leapt at the opportunity for money, his awkward smile and gratuitous laughter drawing a scolding look from the holyman. The Chanter regurgitated some line from the Chant of Light that Elissa did not remember and tossed the pouch at her feet.

She turned away without touching it. Alistair swore behind her.

Elissa wondered if her shame showed on her face. She had not killed those bandits for the town. She had killed them because killing felt _good_.


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter was not cooperative in the slightest! I'm still not entirely certain if I like it. We'll work on it, though. :) For now read, enjoy, and review!**

Elissa looked back at the town of Lothering, watching as the sun sank red as blood behind it. Around her were corpses, dozens of them. Only a small section of the horde of darkspawn that would descend upon the little village, a tiny piece of the shadow that crossed the land and left death in its wake.

This town would be swallowed up. She knew there was nothing to do for it, that she couldn't save them all, but the memory of that little boy as he hobbled across the street continued to plague her.

If she lingered, he would not be the only casualty. Ferelden couldn't afford to have a weak Grey Warden leading them and so she steeled her heart, embraced the little shards of ice that never seemed to melt from her veins and cloaked herself in them. They settled into her skin like armor.

If she lingered, they would lose. Elissa turned and walked away.

* * *

><p>She stood before the campfire that night, long after her companions had bedded down. Her slim frame was a dark smudge against the flames that danced and flickered merrily towards her legs, a black slash in the descending evening. With eyes wide and glossy, she stared into the rising smoke, watching as it blotted out the stars.<p>

Faces seemed to leer down at her from the drifting plume, features stretched wide and monstrous by the cool breeze that soothed the sweat across her brow. So close to the flame, she could nearly smell melting flesh, could almost _see_ accusing eyes as they hung in faces that blamed her for being _too late, too slow, too weak..._

With a tight grimace, she hefted her blade with trembling arms. She ignored the blisters that gave way beneath the roughly wrapped hilt and the way they bled and made her grip slick. Elissa fell into her stance easily, the way she had a thousand times before. The past whispered in her ear, long-gone voices of people she had already lost. Had already failed. _Swing like this, little Elli. Step here, then_-

Her nails shattered against the cured leather, but she swung again and again, each step precise and perfect. She parried and retreated from invisible enemies. It was not the darkspawn she faced now, it was Arl Howe; his friends, his family, _everyone he had ever loved_. She imagined she was cutting down his wife before his eyes. She imagined she would kill them all and save him for last.

When her steps faltered and her muscles finally gave way, Elissa wondered if she hadn't lost more than her family in the flames that had consumed her ancestral home.

The blade fell with a clatter to the rocky ground and she collapsed to one knee. Footsteps crunched against grass and twigs behind her. Elissa did not need to look to know who it was. Alistair only ever used that fumbling, uncomfortably loud gait when approaching _her_. It made her feel like a fool for being so jumpy.

"Here."

A clean cloth was shoved in front of her face and she took it with shaking fingers out of reflex. She stared down at it for long moments, as if trying to decide what to do with it, before Alistair grunted and knelt before her with concern in his eyes.

"You're bleeding."

_How observant_, she thought and felt a weak smile pull at her chapped lips.

He took the cloth in one hand and lifted her bleeding palm into the other. His fingers, callused from sword and shield, were unexpectedly gentle as he soothed away the blood and the hurt, leaving behind raw pink skin. She stared at the ground, barely feeling the sting as he cleaned and finally wrapped the wounds.

"You're supposed to wear gloves when you practice, you know," he said and she wondered how he could be so cheerful _all the time_. He gave her hands a soft pat –_ his fingers were so warm_ – and stepped back to help her stand. She staggered to her feet and quickly retreated.

Alistair bent and hefted her blade from where it had tumbled into the dirt, wielding it with the sure fingers of someone who'd worked with a sword much of his life. He swung it around himself several times, oblivious to the blood caking the hilt, and glanced at her with a dark brow raised towards his hairline. He didn't pass it back to her.

"I'm surprised you can even _lift_ this thing," he said and finally leaned it up against a nearby crate.

Elissa stared at the blade, and the big body between her and it, before realizing there would be no more practice this night. Alistair did not look inclined to moving, so she dropped down and settled herself just in front of the flame. There had been a time, coming out of Ostagar, that the fire had risen such panic in her that she could not stand to be near it.

That, too, had faded with time as she realized the accusing embers were not seeking to draw penance from her flesh.

She was not entirely surprised to hear Alistair shuffle into place beside her. For once he managed to hold his tongue and, as he leaned back, seemed content to sit in silence and enjoy the warmth of the blazing embers beside her.

Elissa knew it wouldn't last long. When he drew in a deep breath and parted his lips to speak, she turned towards him with very little irritation. She had found that despite his few very strange quirks – _cheese, Alistair, really? –_ he was a fundamentally _good_ man and very loyal. He didn't deserve to be an outlet for the darkness slowly growing beneath her ribs, even if he did talk too much.

"So," he began. "Who were you fighting just now? I've never seen you so - _angry_."

She paused. _Observant, indeed._

Lying would be easy. It would protect her and the fragile core of strength she'd managed to build up around herself over the last several weeks. Speaking the truth would threaten that.

And yet she spoke it anyway.

"I see Arl Howe." That name, saying it out loud, made her flinch. For such a long time he had been friends with her father, friends with the family. She had never thought to fear him. "The man who kill– who killed my parents." She took pride in the fact that her voice did not waver much. She sounded stronger than she felt.

Elissa almost expected him to object, noble as he was.

Alistair made a hum of _agreement_, as if he understood. "I don't blame you," he responded easily, and Elissa was reminded that he too lived in violence. That he killed, just as she did, and that of all people _he _would understand. It was easy to forget sometimes, between his jovial nature and fumbling humor, that he was a warrior of impressive ability.

Indeed, they were more alike than she remembered. He did not speak again and Elissa was more than content to allow the silence to lie heavy between them.

The flames danced in strange patterns, flickering up towards the stars. Smoke and cinders flashed against the night sky, twisted and burning.

She had much to think about.


	4. Chapter 4

**Yeeeeeah okay, so that took forever and I apologize. But alas, I return with another chapter! As always, read, enjoy, and inform me of any errors. ;D **

Redcliffe made Elissa uneasy. It rose up out of the red, cracked rock like jagged teeth about to snap closed. Houses teetered precariously along cliff faces, supported by stilts. It was unbalanced and unsettling.

She hated the amount of death she saw there. She hated the corpses that lined the shore, waiting to be burned – men, women, children alike. At the opposite side of the lake, piles of once-animated dead lay rotting in the sun. They would burn later and their ashes would be collected and disposed of. Until then, the stench nearly made Elissa wretch.

Mostly, she hated that it dragged up memories. Her family had visited Redcliffe many times in her youth. She remembered being unimpressed with it at the time because she'd been such a _spoiled_ brat. She saw faded images of her brother teasing her, her father laughing and her mother scolding them all.

She clenched her jaw and turned her eyes away. Alistair was peering at her curiously. She waved off his concern with a sharp slash of her hand and a shrug. Now was no time to mourn.

They had saved the town from the invading monsters and very few had been lost in the battle the previous night. All hailed her as a hero and she'd accepted their praise with insincere smiles that felt like they would crack her face. Alistair was content with their work and Elissa found that the burden crushing her shoulders felt just slightly lighter when he stopped scowling, too.

She was glad to see the town gone, even if it meant heading off into more danger. On the road, there were no memories waiting to rear up and grab her. It was quiet, and it soothed her. Her companions – Sten, Leliana, Morrigan – walked behind them. Alistair and her mabari stood at either side.

He was just like a puppy, she'd thought once. She had been correct.

When they'd finally stopped to camp, it was Alistair who built up the fire. It was only Alistair who'd realized how much she hated the flames.

Elissa stood back and considered their current objective. They were headed to the Circle of Magi – there were few places she would least like to be. Yet she had agreed without hesitation because she _couldn't_ bear to see a family torn apart like that.

_Auntie, will you teach me how to use a sward?_

Her teeth grated together. Connor had reminded her too much of her nephew. To see him cut down before her would have been the end of the pieces of herself she'd managed to drag together. So now they followed the shores of Lake Callenhad around, hoping to reach the Circle before it was too late for all of them.

The campfire roared up from the kindling and Alistair rose from his crouch and moved to her side. He sat beside her on a fallen tree and leaned back on his arms, stretching after a hard day's travel.

She tilted her head towards him. She knew that look in his eyes – he wanted to talk.

"Thank you for doing this," he said. "I know it would have been faster to-" He let the words hang.

It would have been faster to deprive a little boy of his mother. Or to kill him outright.

Elissa shrugged. She hadn't done it for him, after all – she had chosen this path because she was selfish and because she needed to sleep at night without the nightmares pulling her under. She slept poorly enough as it stood.

"Do you think the mages will be willing to help?" He asked.

She responded immediately. "I will _make_ them help." She wasn't about to allow more death to fall on her hands because the mages were not feeling cooperative. She would drag them back to Redcliffe by their frilly robed if she needed to.

It had been a long time since she'd felt such conviction. It dampened some of the ache that seared a hole through her chest.

Elissa thought back to the lost boy she'd seen wandering through the damned streets of Lothering. She had known she couldn't help him then – it had ripped her open, eaten at her insides. _This_ was her chance to save another family from the fate her own had suffered.

To do something good again brought her back to life just a little.

The Circle Tower rose up out of the middle of the lake, shadowed against the moon. Though she had never seen such an awe-inspiring construction before, Elissa did not bother to pause in her rapid descent of the hill leading into the lake valley. After a direct and blunt argument with a surly templar, they had procured passage across the lake.

Morrigan had refused to accompany them within the Circle. Elissa did not think it a great loss.

And when they were finally inside, they found it a riot of the injured and dying mingled with stalwart templars barring the way.

The mages were lost, she was told. Elissa did not think any innocent could be lost until their dying breath.

She and her companions shared a grim look before they plunged into the spiraling pillar. The first rooms were barren of all but shattered belongings and flames that licked futilely at the stone walls before dying into glowing embers. Heaps of robes and tatters of what might have once been an apprentice's diary lay mangled in a side room.

Further in, they encountered horrors she could not have imagined – monsters of nightmares, shrouded in darkness. Boils of flesh erupted from shadowed corners and glistened wetly in the torchlight.

Bodies lay strewn about. Some of them were so young, barely older than children. Mere innocents, trapped and helpless. She locked their image at the forefront of her mind as her blade cleaved through creatures she had never thought to encounter. Demons. Demented spirits that clawed their way through the Fade and burned with unnatural flame.

Her arms ached. Her fingers bled.

She and Alistair fought back to back, creating an impenetrable defensive line to protect Wynne. Her mabari charged fearlessly into the fray, harrying the enemy into range of their long blades. They moved this way from floor to floor, pushing back to unrelenting flood of unleashed horrors. Sweat stung her eyes, but she dared not yield long enough to wipe it away.

Elissa didn't think the things they'd seen that night would ever wash free of their memories. Abominations that rose from the flesh of men, felled blood mages who had turned against their own pushed haphazardly into profane piles along the walls. The smell of burning and death made her vision tilt strangely but she remembered the mission and carried on.

Then one moment she was aware of hacking through abominations and in the next she heard slow murmurs, seductive whispers of peace and _rest._ Then she saw nothing but darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Eeek, I hope this chapter doesn't confuse anyone! Also, be on the look-out for typo's and especially mistakes in the lore. My proof-reading is usually very minor and very full of fail as I am an absolutely atrocious self-editor.**

Elissa brushed her long hair in sweeping strokes of the comb, watching the motion reflect back at her in the vanity. Her make-up was done dark and sultry to compliment her pale skin and deeply amber eyes. She swept her hair back and stood, twisting once to catch her image in the mirror.

She had donned her finest armor and silkiest undertunic. Though Mother would not approve, she was a warrior first. She would leave gowns to the simpering noblemen's wives. Such things were for daughters of lesser bloodlines – she was a proud Cousland, and she would bring honor to Father's name.

They had a visitor today – and a Grey Warden, no less! Perhaps she would be allowed to spar with him before he left, and the thought filled her steps with an extra bounce as she swept from her room.

As soon as she made her way into the Great Hall, she caught sight of her Father where he stood in deep conversation with another man whose back was to her. "Good morning, Father!" She called and both men turned to look at her as she crossed the room.

The Warden! She recognized the sigil engraved on his shield. She gave a quick bow – Elissa did not _curtsey_! - and glanced at the man from beneath her thick lashes. _Handsome_, she thought with surprise. _And young_.

Her Father cleared his throat. "Elissa, this is Alistair."

_Alistair. _

_ Alistair..._

Elissa's brows briefly furrowed but she just as quickly replaced it with a brilliant smile. "A pleasure to meet you, _messere_." Her voice was a low purr.

Alistair's face flamed bright red and he laughed awkwardly. _Is he truly old enough to be a senior Grey Warden?_ "Just call me Alistair," he said.

_That voice is so familiar._

"Have we met before?" She asked because she was suddenly certain that they _must_ have.

He looked confused. "I don't believe so?"

Her Father smoothly stepped in to fill the awkward gap in conversation and Elissa smiled wryly. Yes, how silly of her. _Of course_ she would remember if she'd ever met a Grey Warden before. Perhaps she had dreamed it. Perhaps she was still tired.

"Pet, you should go fetch your brother. I'm sure Fergus would like to have a word with our honored guest."

Elissa's nose scrunched up in distaste. "Are you trying to be rid of me, Father?" She asked, and unleashed the full force of her smile on him. She knew he could never resist.

Her Father rolled his eyes. "Run along, Elissa. The Grey Warden will still be here later, and you can challenge him to a sparring session _then_."

She laughed, unashamed, and breezed off with only a single backwards glance towards the tall, awkward Warden. He was watching her, his lips pulled into a goofy grin.

_Just like a puppy_, she thought. Then she frowned because a spot between her eyes _ached_ and she thought that she caught a glimpse of smoke at the edge of her vision – yet when she turned to look, there was nothing there at all.

Before she made it far, her nephew collided with her legs. The boy clung to her knees, all gangly long limbs and excitement. She scooped him into her arms and though he told her constantly that he was getting _too old_ for such things, she swung him around in a circle before propping him on her hip.

He clung to her neck and squealed with laughter. Elissa held him with one arm – training with a blade all day did have some use, after all – and looked up to find her brother not far behind. She grinned at him and held Oren out at arm's length. "Your little ball of joy nearly took out my legs!"

Fergus laughed and accepted his son into his arms. "Of course, dear sister. I assume you were coming to look for me? Mother did say there was some sort of raucous down in the Hall."

"The Grey Warden has arrived, Fergus!" She said and sighed. To fight a Grey Warden, the most skilled warriors of all! Her hands already itched for a blade. "Here, in Highever. What a grand opportunity." She flashed him a characteristic grin, but he seemed concerned.

"You aren't thinking of joining them just yet, are you?"

"Why, now you sound like Mother and Father," she drawled and moved to follow him back the way she'd come. "But no, I don't. Can you imagine me camping in the mud?" She scoffed, though mud did not bother her nearly so much as she let on. In fact, she had been known to roll in the dirt with her beloved mabari on more than one occasion.

Better they thought her simple, concerned only with her hair and her clothing.

And who her next sparring partner would be, of course. There were few things Elissa loved more than a swordfight.

Fergus snorted as they reenter the Hall and Elissa caught the Grey Warden – Alistair's – gaze again and cast him a flippant wink.

His face lit up brilliant red.

Father sighed and Elissa bit her lip. Fun! This Grey Warden was _fun_ and here she'd thought they were all supposed to be so sour and dour and serious. A calculating gleam entered her eye and then vanished just as quickly because she could _swear_ there was another memory of him dancing just outside her reach.

_His fingers were rough with callous, but _warm_ as he wrapped her bleeding palms. _

It slipped away as quickly as it had come, but Elissa was left with an impression of a dream, a memory.

Her head hurt. The throb was becoming a persistent ache behind her eyes.

She pursed her lips and glanced at Fergus. "Are you sure the Grey Warden was never here before? Long ago?"

Her brother looked appropriately baffled. "Of course not," he said, and then chuckled as if she were joking. "I'm sure we would all remember if he had. And he's certainly not old enough to have been here before."

So she'd noticed. But the lingering _memory_, the half formed image that lurked at the back of her mind refused to be expelled. "Fergus-"

"That's enough, Elissa," he said in a voice that was suddenly too severe. Her brows snapped together; her brother _never_ yelled at her. Something uneasy flickered at the edge of her awareness.

"Very well, brother," she said flatly, and instantly the traces of anger were gone from his familiar features.

Elissa tried to shake it off, but the uneasiness refused to relent. She forced a bright smile as she came face to face with Alistair again.

"And to what honor do we owe having a Grey Warden in our Keep, Father?" Fergus boomed good-naturedly, his voice rebounding off the high stone ceiling.

Alistair was the one to answer, though Elissa was certain he never drew his eyes from her. She smirked at him, keeping up the charade though she was _certain_ she had seen him before.

"I seek recruits, _serrah_," he said once he'd cleared his throat and suddenly he was by far more serious. "Another Blight is coming. We must be ready."

Elissa stiffened, her spine going straight. _Another Blight, the Archedemon, the _taint_ in her blood that she can never escape. The howling nightmares of darkspawn that mingle with smoke and fire and screams. A dragon whose scales seep rot, whose horns are twisted and whose eyes burn with hunger. _

_ Ferelden couldn't afford to have a weak Grey Warden leading them._

Suddenly, there was blood on her hands. Elissa looked at them and recognized it. "The Blight is already here," she said slowly, carefully. She was shaking because she wanted to believe _so badly_, because she wanted her family and Oren and the Alistair who she could look at without cringing away because she was all that was frozen and he was not.

Her Father, her brother and her nephew looked at her and she saw the emptiness in them, because they were only puppets.

Knowledge pushed forward. _You deserve a rest... The world will go on without you_.

Her fists curled and broke fragile new wounds on her palms.

No matter how badly she wanted to linger, she couldn't If she didn't fight her way free, there would be so many more innocents suffering because of her weakness, her failings.

Elissa told herself this as she watched her family fade from sight but it still felt like losing them all over again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Slowly but surely, I'm movin' it along! Thanks to everyone who fav'd, watched, or reviewed! They all mean a lot to me. :')**

"_Please say you'll stay for dinner!"  
>"We're leaving, Alistair. Now."<em>

_ Fingers made sharp by haste squeeze into his arm and pull – hard enough to jar him off his feet, hard enough to make him stumble behind a narrow woman with hard, black eyes. "I don't understand." He tries to dig in his heels, but he can't fight her pull. _

_ "That's not your sister, Alistair." _

_ Skeletons erupt from the ground. _

* * *

><p>Elissa came awake with a gasp like a drowning woman. Alistair had never seen her so wild-eyed and he lurched to catch her before she rolled herself off the steps. What had she seen in the Fade? From his hazy memory, he knew she was solely responsible for getting all of them out.<p>

She sucked in great gulps of air as he held her upright and her thin shoulders quaked under his hands. Her oversized blade slipped her grasp and crashed to the floor as she struggled to right herself. "Is everyone alright?" She asked between heaves. Her face was deathly pale. Blue veins traced under her skin like cracks and her dark eyes were sunken.

"I think so. Oh, and look, your mabari is already getting ready to bite me. He must be fine," he drawled. The hound was gaining his feet and casting Alistair the evil eye.

To his surprise, Elissa choked on a short, hard laugh.

It was the first time he'd heard her laugh. He flushed and muttered something woefully incoherent, but she was already reaching for her blade again with shaking hands.

"We must press on," she said. She tried to drag herself from his hold and cross the room but he carefully propped her against the wall instead. "There is no time."

"We won't be of use to anyone if you're dead," he said jovially and she proved his point by collapsing back to the floor.

Wynne approached and reverently pried a thick tome from the wasted remains of a mage's corpse. "He's right, child. We must rest."

Elissa relented but for just a moment Alistair swore he could see a trace of fire in the burnt-out embers of her eyes.

* * *

><p>Elissa watched as Wynne waved her hands and called on her magic to heal a gash across Alistair's arm. She allowed her head to fall back against the wall and her eyes to close. She could barely lift her arms.<p>

The Fade. She had struggled through it alone. She had seen things that would live alongside the rest of her nightmares for years.

And the Fade dreams of Alistair and Wynne had hit a bit too close to home.

_Maker forgive me. I failed them all. They died and I did not stop it._

_We're one big happy family, at long last! _

Her fingers dug deep into the leather-bound hilt of her sword. Behind her eyelids, all she could see was smoke, fire, and broken bodies.

A sudden noise at her side jarred the images away. Her head whipped around and she found Alistair beside her, leaning against the wall.

"So tell me," he said. "What did _you_ dream of? I mean, you got to see all _our_ dreams." She wasn't imagining the whine in his voice at that.

Red crept up her neck because she suddenly remembered his part in the trap the Sloth demon had set for her. "My family," she said, guardedly.

"You lost them? All of them?"

She didn't answer immediately but a muscle in her jaw clenched. He mistook her expression for anger and backpedaled rapidly. "I'm sorry. That was stupid of me to ask -"

"It's alright." She sighed. Alistair was too curious by far. "My parents, my brother's wife and my nephew. Arl Howe killed them all. My brother was at Ostagar. I don't believe he made it out." She bit her tongue.

Anger, like the hot embers of a burnt out flame, rose beneath her breast and seared her throat. She held the image of Arl Howe's face close and vowed he would die at the end of her blade. That desire for vengeance was all that lived in her heart.

"How did you escape the demon's dream?" Alistair asked her, watching her with damningly curious eyes. His interest made her aware of the thin facade she held. "I wouldn't have managed at all without your help." He seemed awed.

Elissa closed her eyes against those large, warm eyes. _Just like a puppy._ "No one knows my family better than I. The demon gave himself away."

And Alistair himself had helped because the memories of his warm hands, his laughter – it was all there to pull her back.

"We should leave," she said now that she'd caught her breath. Her body ached but she couldn't afford to sit and rest. More mages – innocent of any crime – waited at the top of the tower with demons at their heels. Connor waited for her to return with a savior – a savior she would bring back or die trying.

She leaned heavily on her blade but managed to limp her way over to Wynne and her mabari.

The others were up and moving quickly. Her warhound took his place at his mistress's side, lending his strength to her own.

Elissa's limbs refused to obey her and her hands trembled. She fumbled her blade twice before managing to pull herself upright without its assistance. Fighting her way through the Fade had left her exhausted, even now.

Alistair cast her a worried look but said nothing as they trudged ever upwards.

* * *

><p>Abominations lay dead at her feet but even more were swarming by the second. Dozens of mages lay bound at the edges of the battle and only the Litany kept them from the same gruesome fate.<p>

Elissa was shaking but Uldred – or whatever he had become – was still standing strong. Blood blurred her vision and slicked her hands, wetting the hilt of her weapon.

The demon charged at her, its many beady eyes awash with fury, and Elissa forced her sword up one more time. The sharpened, pitted edge buried itself through thick purple hide, bit into bone and severed muscles but she wasn't quite fast enough. A massive claw swung around and caught her across the chest, flinging her limp body across the room.

Elissa crashed against the wall and collapsed. Her blade fell from slack fingers and black shadows encroached at the edges of her vision. Something warm and wet slid down her back and pooled within her armor.

The last thing she saw was Alistair leaping at the demon's back, his blade clean through its throat -

And then the phantom image of Arl Howe, mocking her as she bled out on the floor.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm pretty sure that Elissa spends more time covered in blood than not. Which is pretty accurate to the game, come to think of it. <strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Wow, I hadn't even realized it had been this long since I'd last updated! Agh!  
><strong>

_There is the taste of hot metal on her tongue. _

_ It smells like copper and old bones. Her veins are on fire but her fingers break with ice when she bends them and claws upwards, reaches free of her bed of warmth and blanketing darkness. There are voices all around her, powerful as the swelling tide. _

_ And there's pain like a brand at the base of her skull but it pales compared to the face that dances behind her closed lids and blood-fused lashes, the memories that rise to mock her in every weakening moment. _

_ "A warrior? How... Unique." _

_ Unique. Elissa sneers past the blood crowding her teeth. _

_ A thousand voices, a thousand memories, clamor in her mind, caught somewhere between the Fade and reality. _

_ "We are Couslands and we do what must be done." _

_ "... Elissa!"  
>"Wake up!"<em>

* * *

><p>Alistair pried the gauntlet from his hand and buried thick fingers in the clotted tangle of her hair. Something crunched beneath his touch and blood made his skin sticky.<p>

"Elissa," he called, frantic now because her eyes wouldn't open and her face was waxy and gray-blue. Awkwardly, he cradled her between his arm and knee and ignored the way their heavy armor ground together. She was still bleeding, a steady _drip, drip_ on his bared wrist. "Wake up!"

Briefly, his mind was dragged back – back to Ostagar, back to the Tower of Ishal – to where they lay dying on the floor with arrows lodged beneath skin and into bone –

Panic dug in deep and he shook her, hard, trying to shock warmth into her.

_Was she breathing?_

Her hound whimpered at his side and laid a wide head down on his leg. Mabari's were too smart for their own good.

A soft hand, uncalloused by war and weapons, touched his wrist. Wynne.

"Alistair," she said. "We can heal her. She is not yet gone."

And it was true. Her lungs still drew breath through parted lips crusted red and cracked.

He gave a nod of consent – _why defer to him, he was terrible at making decisions –_ and the soothing glow of healing magic washed over them both.

* * *

><p><em>The world is hazy and red and time is fluid in her hands. <em>

_ She can see her past laid out behind her, a trail of living portraits that end in death and the stench of smoke. Ahead, the future is gray and murky. It is malevolent and she thinks she can spy the sputtering glow of a dying flame at the end of her path. _

_ Before her there is nothing but an uncertain destiny and a certain death. _

_ Behind, the gaunt faces of the family she'd loved and lost. _

_ "Elissa!" _

_ She hears the voices that call to her in desperation and fear but they are far away and out of her reach._

_ Time is fluid and ever-changing but in the end, it is undeniable._

_ She steps forward into the unknown future with her head held high and a whisper at her heels: _

_ "... Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn..."_

* * *

><p>Alistair cradled the back of Elissa's freshly mended skull against his arm. Her body sprawled awkwardly across his knees but it was better than lying her back on the stones that were still warm with her blood.<p>

He was the first to notice when she pried open her eyes.

"Alistair?" She choked and he winced because the spaces between her teeth were rust colored.

"Yeah," he said roughly and cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable now that she was awake. "So, finally decided to join us again, have you?"

Elissa squinted at him through gritty eyes. "How long have I been asleep?" She demanded in a hoarse voice and struggled to sit upright.

"I wouldn't call it _sleeping_," Alistair said. "And it hasn't been long."

The haze left her eyes and she jerked to her feet. She staggered once, her hand pressed against her forehead, and he quickly righted her again before she fell. "The Right of Annulment," she muttered, her eyes darting around in search of a weapon. "We need to get Irving down to the Templars. Now."

Her sword lay where she had dropped it. The blade was snapped clean in half from the abuse it had taken and its final clash against the stone walls. It was irreparably damaged.

Elissa stared at it for a long moment, her empty hands flexing. For a moment, Alistair thought she would try to pick up the pieces. Instead, her fixated gaze snapped away and she turned towards Irving and Wynne.

The mages were bent over the corpses of their fallen peers. Elissa's face was pale and waxy but she made her way through the tangle of broken bodies with delicate steps. She laid a hand on Irving's shoulder and her sharp gauntlets seemed harsh when she pulled him around. "We have to go. The lower levels should still be clear," she said when his eyes finally dragged from the shattered body of a young mage.

Her presence bolstered their strength, even with her face blanched bone-white and her hair wet and sticky with sweat and blood, just barely better than half-dead herself. She offered Irving a grave smile and the First Enchanter drew himself up. "The Circle owes you all a debt we could never repay."

"That's not necessary," Elissa muttered quickly and offered her shoulder to assist the man down the stairs.

Elissa claimed that she was not fit to lead the Grey Wardens into battle, but in that moment Alistair could see why Duncan had chosen her and why she had survived where others had not.

Elissa knew that Greagoir and Irving were talking to her – _at_ her, really – but she was exhausted and their words ran together into a droning hum in her ears. Alistair and Wynne stood just beside her and he was speaking to the mage with large, animated movements – _was Alistair talking about cheese again?_ – but her bleary eyes were focused on the young apprentices slowly filtering through the giant doors at the end of the hall. Some were bloody and singed and covered in grime, but they were alive and whole as they limped back to safety.

An old voice whispered from her memories, _Well done, Pup_, and her fingers trembled.

Alistair fell abruptly silent and Elissa realized that, for the first time in weeks, she was smiling.

**AN: As a quick side-note, if I haven't responded to your review, it's probably because I'm socially awkward and embarrassed, but I'd like to thank you all anyway! :') (I swear there will be more Alistair romance-y goodness soon. I will make it happen!) **


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: omg guys, I am so sorry I vanished for almost a year! I feel horrible D: Please enjoy this chapter anyway and, as always, feel free to review and correct any mistakes you see! **

The long, forced march back to Redcliffe Castle was hard – the tense wait as Morrigan traversed the Fade and freed the boy was even harder. Elissa paced and paced back and forth, her back to the massive hearth as she watched the mages. Alistair stood between her and the flames because he knew how much she hated them.

She was staring at Morrigan's inert body as if the force of her eyes could make time move faster or make the demon any easier to defeat. It was unnerving, so Alistair sidled up next to her and waited for her to notice. "I bet the witch is doing this on purpose," he said lightly. "I bet she's playing Wicked Grace with the demon right now and laughing at us."

Elissa looked bewildered for a brief moment and then shocked them all with a bark of laughter that sounded rough and throaty but sincere.

Alistair grinned and flushed but it didn't last long. She went back to her vigilant patrol, but the sharp set of her narrow shoulders had eased and he was proud of that.

* * *

><p>They didn't stay in Redcliffe once Connor was safe, despite Bann Teagan's offer of warm beds and dinner. Alistair suspected it was because Elissa hated Teagan's pitying stare.<p>

The road to Denerim was rife with rumors of the advancing Darkspawn hoard. Elissa's face would go pale and he wondered if she thought of all the people they'd been forced to leave behind the way he did.

Each night, when they stopped to make camp, he would come to sit beside her near the fire and they would talk. He told her about the Grey Wardens, long stories that he thought should have been boring but she seemed to enjoy, and about Duncan and all the others. He told her about himself and what it was like to grow up the orphaned, bastard son of a King.

On quiet nights, when the others were asleep, she would tell him little things about her life in soft tones. _My mabari's name is Skald. He was a gift for my brother, but he bonded to me_, she would tell him. And, _The first time I held a sword was when I learned to walk and stole my brother's blade from his room. _

He had laughed at that. He could imagine how she had been before she'd lost everything.

Then, as they approached the gates of Denerim, she handed him an amulet.

He stared at it, ran his fingers over the tiny cracks and chips, and then gaped at Elissa when he realized what it was.

"Bann Teagan gave it to me," she said. Her char black eyes were uneasy in her pallid face. He watched in bemused shock as color rose up her cheeks. "He told me Arl Eamon kept it." She left his side as if she'd never been there, ethereal as a ghost, but he smiled at her retreating back.

* * *

><p>Elissa drew a cloak over her shoulders and hid her face beneath the hood. Her family was well known in Denerim. <em>She<em> was well known in Denerim. She couldn't stand to have another noble come to gawk at the last of the Cousland family legacy, come to see how she was broken and stained to her core with blood. She cast her face in shadows.

Her caution was well warranted. As they crossed through Denerim's vast gates, they found her face staring back at them from a hundred poorly drawn sketches. Elissa drew her cowl closer and shared a sharp look with Alistair. Though crudely done by someone who had obviously never seen her before, each poster was blazoned with her name across the top.

There were many in the city who would not hesitate to end her family line.

"Leliana," she called softly. "Find Brother Genitivi. Please."

The Orlesian bard would draw the least attention – and if she was, perhaps, more than a simple _bard_, that was not for Elissa to judge. Not anymore. She would get the information, and she would get it without alerting anyone to their presence.

Leliana vanished into the crowd and Elissa was left standing between Alistair and her mabari without a plan for what to do next.

She felt the same familiar restlessness rise up beneath her breastbone like a gaping maw. Her eyes flickered, her brow creased – but there were neither bandits nor darkspawn so close to the city. She was a warrior with no battle to fight. Her hand tightened on the hilt of her new blade.

Alistair bent to reach her ear and his breath was warm on her neck. She nearly flinched but caught herself before she put her reaction to violence. If ever there was another blade buried in her back, she knew if would not be Alistair who wielded it.

"I think – I think that's my sister's house," he said.

Elissa remembered his dream in the Fade, remembered a vague shape of a woman-not-woman whom Alistair had called 'sister'. A part of her was bitter – _always bitter_ – that he had his sister and she had nothing but she could nearly hear her father's voice scolding her for such thoughts.

"She could be in there right now! Can we go in? Can we –" He was still babbling, _Will she even know who I am, what if she doesn't recognize me, what if, what if…?_

"Maybe we should just go," Alistair continued to fret and Elissa's frown pulled tighter. "We don't really have to visit, do we?"

"We'll meet her," she said. She peered at him through the veil of her cloak and could see his face flushed with color, his eyes darting nervously. "Come on." It was endearing in an odd sort of way, she thought, that he could be flustered so easily. She could not remember ever being _flustered_.

When they received no answer for knocking on Goldanna's door, Elissa simply swept in. Nobles were not taught to knock.

The confrontation that followed was not what either of them had expected.

* * *

><p>Alistair was stunned by how vicious his sister was, by her harsh words and sharp face, by the way her fingers seemed hooked and gnarled from years of hard labor.<p>

He felt her accusations like a physical blow to the gut.

_You killed mother, you did!_

_ Took her away from me…_

_ Left me with nothing!_

Elissa's quiet voice broke the angry tirade. Had he been paying more attention, he might have noticed the way the ghosts stirred in her black eyes, the way her pale lips pulled back from her teeth.

"I would listen to your brother, if I were you." Her voice was cold and deceptively gentle, a knife-edge honed to cut painlessly.

Alistair was vaguely aware that he was stuttering and that Goldanna was insulting Elissa.

This was not what he'd wanted. This was not what he'd imagined at all, not the family he'd spent so many days and nights dreaming about. His face twisted. "Hey, don't _talk_ to her like that." He tried to keep his voice gentle, after all she was still his _sister_…

"I've got five mouths to feed and unless you can help with that –"

"Goldanna," Elissa interrupted in a voice like ice and ash. "You should appreciate your family. It is amazing how quickly is can all be _taken_ from you." It was both statement and thinly veiled threat.

Goldanna's eyes widened the same time Alistair's head jerked around to stare.

"How _dare_ you! What do you know of loss? You're nothing but a kept _whore_ for a Prince!"

Alistair knew what would happen next, he could see it in the way Elissa's body tensed and coiled. It was the only reason he was able to catch her fist before it could connect an inch from Goldanna's stricken face. Her eyes were no longer the color of cold cinders, but of burning pitch.

He saw her breathe in deep before she reached past her cloak and withdrew a pouch filled with gold. She threw it at his sister's feet with enough violence to split it open, yellow coins bouncing and clattering in every direction.

Elissa's hood fluttered back around her shoulders. Goldanna could only gasp in horrified recognition before the last of the Cousland's slipped from Alistair's grasp and stalked from the tiny house.

**AN: I'm sorry, I really wanted to have Elissa punch her but Alistair just refused to let it happen… **


	9. Chapter 9

**Omg guys, I am a horrible person and I apologize for being so consistently slow on updates but I suffer from a serious case of fandom ADD. I can hardly get out a chapter before something **_**new and shiiiiny**_** grabs my attention away!  
>Regardless, read away and enjoy! <strong>

_This is not about you_.

Elissa remembered to pull up her hood before she entered the sunlight, but just barely.

_Imagine how Alistair feels_.

But that thought only made it worse, fed the anger and the hate she'd nearly forgotten about. Now it slipped her control, gnashing at the bit. Her fingers curled into shaking fists and she viciously stamped it down.

_Never fight angry, Elissa. Always been in control; of your blade, of your emotions, of yourself._

It had been the one lesson she'd never excelled at.

Alistair followed quick on her heels, slamming free of the door in all his clattering, gleaming armor. He headed for her without hesitation, and she thought distantly that he was angry with her – she had never seen him _angry_.

_Of course he's angry. You tried to punch his sister._

Elissa squeezed her eyes shut and hid beneath her hood as he stormed across the street towards her. The fury still beat inside her like a war drum and that was not how she wanted Alistair to see her.

She didn't look up when he stopped directly in front of her, nor when he cleared his throat. Finally, his armored hand landed on her pauldron.

"That… was not what I was expecting," he began.

Elissa winced and ducked her head. "I am sorry," she said. "I didn't mean –" Except she _had_ meant it and she _would_ have hit Goldanna without Alistair's intervention. She fell silent.

"Sorry? I'm – I'm not really sure what I would have done if you hadn't been there! I can't _believe_ that gold digging harridan is my sister!"

Elissa peered at him from beneath the brim of her cowl. If Alistair sounded angry, it wasn't directed at her. Could she do no wrong in his eyes? But he was upset and downcast and Elissa wondered if Goldanna would appreciate family more if she lost them –

And if Elissa allowed herself to become a monster. _Would I destroy a family to prove a point? Just like Howe!_

Alistair continued to fret. Elissa reached out slowly, hesitantly, and took his gauntleted hand in her own. Through their armor, they could feel neither pressure nor warmth but perhaps the gesture would mean something anyway. Elissa hoped so.

His startled silence gave her a chance to speak. "Family is more than blood. You don't need her."

There were many things she couldn't say but maybe he would understand. From the way he stared bewildered at their joined hands, she thought he did.

* * *

><p>Leliana appeared as swiftly and quietly as she'd left. Elissa jumped and pulled their hands apart but didn't attempt to draw her blade on the bard. Alistair was quietly proud of her, though he'd never tell her that. He stared down at his hand as the women spoke of hidden corpses and the Frostback Mountains.<p>

She'd stood up for him. While he'd stumbled and floundered for a response, Elissa had spoken the words he'd have been too afraid to say.

Alistair watched her face and thought of how it had changed, how there were fewer cracks in her mask and how she looked a little less like a statue every day. He watched the movements of her hands as she spoke and the stiffness of her slender shoulders.

Elissa turned abruptly. His face heated – he had not only missed the entire conversation, but she had caught him staring.

She said nothing. Her dark eyes were hard again, all traces of warmth gone, and cast in shadow by the cavernous hood. "We cannot stay in Denerim long," she said quietly. "Are you… finished here?" She lifted her hands to fiddle with the hem of her cowl.

He looked back across the street, where Goldanna had tightly closed every shutter. He had spent a lifetime seeking out his family, only to have those dreams crushed.

Elissa waited patiently for his decision. "Yeah," he said. "We're done."

* * *

><p>Elissa listened carefully to every rumor of the Blight's spread. She waited for news of Highever and of the darkspawn – and there would be a certain kind of irony in Castle Cousland suffering a second coupe at the hands of different monsters.<p>

The thought brought both vindictive glee and a horrible, wrenching sadness – because that was her _home_ and that was where her family remained. Or at least what was left of them.

She patrolled the woods around camp because she was restless and sleep only brought nightmares. She wished her dreams were as simple as Alistair's. Instead, she _sometimes_ saw her parents, _sometimes_ Howe and _sometimes_ the Archdemon – and perhaps that made sense, because they all seemed impossibly far out of her reach.

Alistair had told her that her constant vigilance was unnecessary, even so close to the heart of the horde. That they, as Grey Wardens who harbored the taint, would sense any darkspawn long before they proved a threat.

Elissa did not trust in things she could not see. She was no mage.

A nearby bush rattled. Elissa spun with her blade in hand (she was still growing accustomed to its heft) and held her breath; the thick of woods was a poor battleground for someone of her skillset.

She raised the blade and –

Skald stepped from between the leaves. Her mabari sat and stared with eyes that were uncannily intelligent, as if he were waiting for something. Elissa sighed and rubbed an unarmored hand down her face. "What are you doing here?" She asked softly. She scratched his stubby ears and down his nose.

"Where did you get to, you stupid mongrel? Never trust a mabari!"

Alistair thrashed his way clear of the underbrush. Elissa jumped, not in fright, but because his arrival hadn't been preceded by the wild clatter of platemail. He looked nearly as startled as she was. She leaned her blade against a nearby tree and wrung her hands together uneasily. She rarely saw him without his armor and he – he looked –

"Ah," he stuttered and ran a hand over the short hair at his neck. "I was looking for you. Wondered why you weren't at camp. Not that, you know, you aren't capable. Because you are. I just noticed your armor still by your tent and I was – curious. Your mabari was too, I think." He pointed at Skald, who slapped his jowls together.

Elissa laid a hand over her chest and felt the rough linen undertunic she usually wore beneath her breastplate. She suddenly felt far more vulnerable than when she'd been alone in the woods. And that made no sense at all.

"I'm sorry. I was restless," she said. She didn't understand why she should feel obligated to explain herself to him but she _did_ and that was enough.

Alistair scoffed and laughed. "Well, far be it from me to interrupt you wandering the dangerous wilderness alone in the middle of the night!" He smiled at her.

For the first time, Elissa noticed the way he stood very close to her, the way his eyes warmed when he looked at her, the faint rise of color in his cheeks and ears.

She recognized the look on his face. She'd seen it a dozen times on noblemen's sons but Alistair wore it differently. Less like greed, more like –

_Oh_.

Despite everything, the revelation managed to knock the breath from her lungs.


End file.
